Peace
by Nausicaa Smith
Summary: Ahsoka finds herself in a river of loathing and self-doubt following the loss of her squadron at Ryloth. Anakin saves her from drowning.


Ahsoka Tano sat in silence on the floor of her cabin.

The austere conditions aboard the cold Republic cruiser weren't foreign to her; individual quarters in the Jedi Temple were no less sparse. A bedroll, a desk, a lamp, a rack for hanging up robes. Initiates ate in the refectory and used communal showers. Ahsoka knew that the Masters' quarters were larger and somewhat more luxurious. A Master with a Padawan might be afforded a kitchenette, separate sleeping chambers and a sitting area for meditation or entertaining visitors during stays at the Temple. Ahsoka had only been a Padawan since after the war had begun, however, and thus she had spent the bulk of her time in space.

Her utilitarian cabin aboard the cruiser held only her recessed bunk, a shelf for luggage (though she had nothing but a single knapsack containing a single change of clothes and a standard datapad), and a comm unit set at one end. She'd kicked her boots and outer robe off into a corner, there being no closet or clothing nook. The cold metal deck was icy on her feet compared to the warm, comforting stone of the Temple's floors.

No. She missed the Temple, but she refused to pine for its pleasures. In fact, at the moment, she didn't _deserve_ any. She may as well be sleeping on a rock under the cold stars, for all her skills were worth.

What a shame she was, to the Jedi Order. Ahsoka drew her legs up to her chest, tightened her arms around them. Her back hurt, her legs had gone numb. Her bunk was a meter away, but she couldn't muster the energy or the will to get up and go lie down. According to the clone troopers, this level of depression was dangerous but common among soldiers during wartime. But she wasn't a soldier, she was a Jedi-to-be.

What a shame, indeed.

A footstep outside the door. It beeped.

"Come in." she murmured miserably. Probably a clone offering to bring her dinner again, which she had already refused twice. She probably wouldn't eat until they reached Coruscant to re-supply. Temple food wasn't great, but compared to rations it would seem like a feast.

"Snips?" her master's voice floated across the small space. She looked up. He was leaning into the door frame, silhouetted in the bright fluorescent light from the hallway.

"Yes, Master?" Ahsoka squinted at him, but put her head back down. She should have been expecting him to come and inform her of what her punishment would be. She'd had some hope that he might wait until they arrived back at Coruscant so that she could have sufficient time to brood over her transgression and build her guilt up to a proper level.

"Why is it so dark in here?"

"Because the lights are off, Master."

He didn't reprimand her. Ahsoka sometimes wondered if her tendency to talk back was a source of pride for him—that other Padawans were too afraid to speak their mind, but _his_ Padawan was no coward. Pride was frowned upon, but he was Anakin Skywalker, and he could get away with a lot more than the average Jedi.

"May I sit with you?"

"If you wish, Master." She would have preferred solitude, but the covenant between Master and Padawan said she owed him open communication. She was obligated to listen to whatever he had to say.

"I do wish." He let the door shut behind him and reached for the control panel. She thought he would turn the lights up, but instead he turned the heat up. She had once meant to ask him why he always complained about the cold, but she didn't think he would give her a straight answer. Ahsoka didn't mind it; the chill of space kept her alert.

He settled on the deck next to her in the faint light from the crack under the door. "Why," he began, "are you in here freezing yourself?"

"Why not?"

"Point." Anakin drew his knees up, mirroring her posture. Ahsoka did not look at him. "Snips, we're going to have to talk about this."

"We already talked about it," she said, which was true. She'd endured her dressing-down already.

"Well we clearly haven't resolved the issue, and I can't let you sit here all night and wallow in your own misery."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, Obi-Wan is going to sit beside my bunk and read ancient Ithorian poetry at me until we get back."

"Oh, of course he will." Ahsoka giggled into her knees in spite of herself. The funniest part was that she knew it was no idle threat—Master Kenobi was known for his creative methods, a trait he claimed to have inherited from his own master.

"Guilt serves no purpose, Padawan. You know this."

"Yes Master." Guilt is self-pity, and self-pity is tantamount to selfishness.

"The mission was successful. It's over, and now it's time to rest up and recuperate. But you haven't slept, and I heard a rumor you haven't eaten. So, what's the deal?"

He wanted her to talk about feelings, which was something that the two of them usually didn't do in too much depth. Jedi were supposed to be stoic, and on top of the guilt she felt over what she'd done she was embarrassed that she'd been holding back tears for two days. Crying was for babies in the Jedi nursery. Padawans didn't cry. She bit her lip. It had been easier during the planetside operations, but now that all was quiet and they were away from Ryloth she was trapped here with her own thoughts.

"Nothing. There is no deal, Master."

"If it was nothing, you'd be asleep already. I can feel your distress all the way out on the bridge."

"I'm sorry, Master. I will shield myself better."

"Do you think that will solve the problem?"

"Nothing will solve the problem, Master." Ahsoka tightened her arms further around her legs, hid her face from him. "I disobeyed orders."

"Yes, you did." he agreed. That stung.

"And soldiers died because of that."

"Yes, they did."

"And I'm sorry, Master."

"I know you are, Snips. But sitting here in an existential puddle of self-loathing isn't going to change anything."

"I know that, Master."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Ahsoka had said her piece. She'd said it before, too. She saw no way to make up for it. She could confess her sins to him for the rest of the night-cycle and it wouldn't bring those troops back.

"You know, I'm not very good at this."

"It is good for us to know our own weaknesses, Master."

"Okay, I'm going to pretend to be Obi-Wan for a minute and say what he would say in this situation."

"Go for it."

"Feelings of guilt and self-pity are not becoming of a Jedi." He paused to think. "What's past is past, and brooding about it will not help us move forward into the future."

"Very wise, Master."

Anakin sighed. He was clearly out of his depth here—and how could she blame him? He didn't know what to do with her. He hadn't gone seeking an apprentice, the Council had inexplicably forced one on him. He hadn't wanted her, and her own pride at being his apprentice—_Anakin Skywalker's apprentice_—had blinded her to that for a time. She was a burden to him, a chore, and perhaps it would be best for all concerned if she kept her head down and did as she was told until her apprenticeship was complete. Or until he called up the Council and had her expelled from the Order, whichever came first.

"Okay, that doesn't work. I'm not Obi-Wan, and you're not me. I guess I'll have to just pretend to be myself." He elbowed her jokingly, but she didn't laugh.

"Yes, Master."

He made another frustrated noise. Clearly she wasn't being cooperative enough, but she wasn't sure what response it was that he was looking for.

"Look. You need to understand that the Jedi aren't perfect. We bottle up our emotions, or if we're Obi-Wan, we _release them into the Force_, or whatever. But the truth is, we are living beings, not droids. It's okay to feel guilty about what happened, but the shame you feel about feeling guilty isn't appropriate to the situation."

"Isn't it? I ignored instructions, I might as well have killed those men myself. And on top of that, I can't even comport myself appropriately as a Jedi-" she stopped here, because her voice was cracking, and she was determined not to cry in front of him.

"You want to know a secret?" he leaned closer to her, conspiratorially. "I feel guilty too. Probably more than you do."

"I doubt it."

"It's true! As the commanding officer I am responsible for what happened. Feelings aren't forbidden, it's acting on those feelings that is discouraged. If sitting around in the dark for hours isn't acting on your feelings, I don't know what is." Anakin stretched his legs out in front of him, leaned back against the bulkhead. Ahsoka didn't move. "Having feelings is what makes us Jedi. We have compassion for all living things, and this is what motivates us to help others. So cheer up. It sucks sometimes, but it's a sign that you have the empathy to make a great Knight someday."

"I doubt that too." she turned her head to peer at him. "You have plenty of compassion for others, Master, but you don't agonize over your mistakes."

"Do I not? I guess I've learned to keep myself busy and not dwell on the past. That comes with time and practice, and you'll get there someday. Besides, last time I cried over something Obi-Wan made me drink tea with him. I hate tea."

Ahsoka stifled a second giggle, trying to block the image of a tear-stained young Anakin dropping lump after lump of sugar into his tea, while Master Kenobi stood by and looked disapproving.

"Anyway, I also came to apologize."

Ahsoka raised her head up at that, frowning at him. Apologize for what?

"You are advanced in a lot of ways, in your 'saber skills and your connection to the Force. Because of that, I tend to forget that you're a kid. And I put too much responsibility on you too often, and that's not fair. I'm sorry, Snips." He sounded sincere, and that didn't help.

"So you're saying you were wrong to trust me in the first place. I knew it. I'm not worthy to be a Jedi apprentice." Ahsoka put her head back down in misery.

"No, that's not what I mean." He tugged on her braid playfully, but she ignored him. "I wasn't looking for a Padawn, it's true, but you've grown on me. That last mission would have _failed_ without you and your strategy. This war is bad for the Jedi Order. You know me, I love action, but the truth is that this whole thing is damaging to us. We're peacekeepers, negotiators, healers. Not warriors. Every time we open fire on the enemy we are violating the Code, compromising our ideals. I'm setting a bad example for you, and I put too much pressure on you. and I'm sorry. Truly."

This was, as they say, the grain of sand that broke the bantha's back. As much as she tried to stifle herself, the tears poured out undeterred. Anakin put an arm around her, awkwardly at first. In spite of her abject humiliation, she found his presence there comforting. It wasn't long before she had regained control of herself, but she didn't pull away.

"You should punish me, Master." she whispered.

Anakin laughed—much to her annoyance—and pulled her a little tighter against him.

"What would you have me do, confiscate your lightsaber? Order you to fast for a week? Spend a month teaching younglings back at the Temple? _Make you drink Obi-Wan's tea?_"

Why couldn't he ever be serious for more than a moment? Ahsoka smiled, her face pressed into his shoulder. He looked down at her, his blue eyes barely glinting in the dimness.

"Would it make you feel better if I punished you?"

"I don't think so, Master." she answered honestly. She didn't think anything would ever make her feel better about it. The damage she had done was permanent. This was a burden she would bear for all time.

"And would it bring your men back, if I did?"

A sob rose again in her throat, and she shook her head mutely.

"You made a mistake, and they paid for it with their lives. The truth is, Snips, that there's no punishment I can lay on you that could rival what your conscience is doing to your right now."

"Yes, Master." She knew he was right.

"What's done is done, and we can't take it back. What we can do is learn from our mistakes, and make sure we don't repeat them."

"Yes, Master." There was always a lesson to learn, and this was one that they both knew she would not soon forget.

"Do I sound wise enough? This is my impression of Obi-Wan again, you see."

"I see, Master."

Anakin got up, stretched, looking back down at her appraisingly.

"Obi-Wan told me once that time heals all wounds. Maybe it does, from a certain point of view, but that's not a point of view I've ever found myself looking at it from. The past can hurt, and I would be lying to you if I said you'll get over it soon." He bent and pulled back the white coverlet on her bunk. "But what time _will_ do is dull the pain. You won't forget it, but in a week, a month, a year, you'll look back and see it with more clarity than you do now. You will separate yourself from the pain. Lie down."

Ahsoka obeyed his orders, and he tossed the coverlet over her. The room's temperature had increased considerably since he had adjusted the heat, and after nearly 3 days without sleep she finally began to feel drowsy. Her cabin was suddenly warm, dark and cozy.

"I can't take away the hurt, but I can give you a break from it." he perched on the edge of her bunk and placed both his hands over hers. "I will lead you into a dreamless sleep. Worrying over this all night won't help you, and neither will nightmares."

"I guess you would know all about that." she said, before she could stop herself.

Their eyes met for a long second. She almost expected him to be angry that she knew about his dreams, but he merely pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. "Yes, I would. Now, follow my lead. When you wake up, come and find me and we will have breakfast and meditate together before we reach the Temple. Understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"Good."

Ahsoka found the bright Force tendril he had formed to guide her and followed it down into a pitch black place where there was no emotion, only peace.


End file.
